All For You
by Kaida the Dragon Goddess
Summary: Has absolutely nothing to do with the Janet Jackson song. A monologue from the twisted mind of Marik: mainly his views of his hikari. (Shounen-ai, mentions of non-con and just general psychotic-ness) Not for little children.


Pretty hikari.

Pretty, pretty sunshiny hikari with the skin like caramel and the dying-violet eyes. My beautiful hikari with the snowwhite teeth and the quicksilver temper and the cruel hands that tear me apart and make me feel sososo good.

So angry.

Angry at me, hikari-mine? It's not my fault, I said I was sorry, but hikari was crying and that can't happen. Hikari was so sad and _no one _makes hikari sad. Daddy had to go, and I don't know why you're mad at me, pretty. I did it for you. My present, hikari, and I saw you smile when you realized what it was.

Daddy should have been happy. You're beautiful when you smile, and that should have made him happy, but I don't think he can see so well anymore. Skin like hikari's, torn and bloody, and eyes like hikari's, panicked and fearful and dead, dead , _dead_. Hanging from the ceiling, swaying and dancing for you, hikari, look! I made you smile, didn't I? You laughed and laughed and tears streamed down your face as you fell to your knees and stared for a long time at Daddy. Isis screamed and Rashid held you while you laughed and I scowled in my little corner of your mind because they were ruining my present for you with tears and needless words and I wanted it to be mine, all mine.

I don't like Rashid.

I don't like the way he touches you or looks at you, and I don't like the way he looks at _me_, because he shouldn't have been able to see me, he shouldn't know I exist.

But he does and it scares me, because I know you love your almost-brother and you wouldn't protect me from him. It's okay, hikari, you can love him if you want, but he's not me. He doesn't care about you like I do. He won't give you what I do.

And he won't let you do to him what you do to me.

Oh, please don't get mad, hikari-love. I'm not complaining. No, I love what you do, you know that. I love the teasing, petalsoft lips and clawing hands and sharpsharp teeth and sweatslick skin and those pretty, pretty eyes like steel and fire and pain and something that's not quite love.

You don't love me, do you, hikari?

You were so angry with me, even more than when I killed Daddy. You were angry at the world then, for giving you a destiny you didn't want, always so harsh and so cold. I didn't mind when you'd take your anger out on me, because it meant you paid attention to me. You knew I was there and I moaned and cried and screamed and did whatever you wanted me to do because I love your smile. Even that scary grin you'd give me when I cowered at your feet and I'd marvel at how beautiful you were with my blood dripping off the tips of your fingers, crimson and caramel glimmering in dying candlelight.

I wish I could be as pretty as you, hikari. I wish I had that smooth skin and those crystalbright eyes and that soft, soft hair. Even the scars on your back are beautiful, and I wish I had them instead of you, because maybe then you wouldn't be so unhappy.

You're cold and cruel and bloodthirsty and all I wanted to do was help. I wanted to break the pharaoh for you, hikari-mine, and he'd go away, him and his little hikari. He's nothing like you, neither of them are. They're small and weak and pitiful and they need the tomb robber and the pharaoh to protect them. Not like you. You don't need me. I need you.

All I wanted was to make you proud. You spent so long teaching me, teaching me how to be like you, how to walk and talk and tear and maim and destroy. I didn't like practicing, because it meant I had to practice on you.

I made sure never to scar you. I didn't want you to be flawed because of me. You were so perfect and beautiful, and this is our little secret because I think you _like_ what I did to you.

I think we're a lot alike, hikari.

But then there was my final battle with the pharaoh and I could hear you screaming in my head, screaming for me to stop because I was hurting you. I thought that's what you wanted, hikari. It was just like the games we always play, and you love those. You always loved the sting of pain against your skin, loved the feel of my teeth against your throat and my fingernails digging into your wrists and you taught me never to stop, not even if you begged me, because you like fighting, you like being denied what you want.

So I obeyed because I'm a _good_ yami, because I listen, and I didn't stop. The pharaoh's hikari deserved it, he wasn't nearly as pretty as you when you writhe beneath me and scream my name. It was what you wanted, your freedom, and I wanted to give it to you. I was only trying to do what you taught me. I'm a good yami, aren't I?

Hikari?

...tell me I'm good?

We went home then. A new home in Japan, with your sister. It was outside the city, because I think the pharaoh's home held bad memories for you. You didn't talk to me the whole ride there, even though I sat next to you. You were angry with me for what I did, but you'd cared enough to give me a body before you handed over the Rod to the pharaoh. Isis kept glancing back at you and I could tell how worried she was. She wouldn't even look at me, though.

She thinks that the only reason you were bad is because of me. Tell her, hikari. Tell her than I was only trying to make you happy.

You don't. Instead, when she stops to put gas in the car, you lash out at me. I flinch away when you slap me, and that only makes you madder. Your eyes narrow and you bare your teeth at me, cruel nails digging into the side of my face, raking over my cheek and leaving swollen red lines behind.

If Isis notices any difference when she returns, she doesn't say anything.

And even while she's driving, you're slipping your fingers under my belt, touching me, teasing me, your eyes warning me that I'd _better_ stay silent.

And I do.

My lip is bleeding from biting on it and my face if flushed and my fingers are tearing holes in the plush leather seat and I want to cry out sososo badly because you always loved when I did it before, but something's changed with us, hasn't it?

I obey. I'm quiet as you work me, that smile I love so much flitting across your pretty face, but for the first time I'm not happy that you're smiling at me. For the first time I curl up after you've finished with me and tears stream down my face as I watch you lick your fingers clean of me. For the first time I feel _dirty_, because I know this was a punishment. I know that I've displeased you and I know this isn't the last time I'll pay for it.

You grow tired of watching me shiver after a while, and you drift to sleep, eyes sliding shut gracefully. I spend the last hour and a half of the ride staring at you, studying you, loving the way your hair curls over your slim shoulders and gleams in Ra's dying light, like living, perfect flames cascading down your back and brushing your nose as you breathe softly. Gods, you're incredible even when you sleep, an exotic, golden Adonis with tattooed eyes and a deadly smile. Pretty, pretty hikari-mine, I'm sorry I made you angry.

I reach out to touch your face, to brush away your bangs from your eyes and Isis catches my eye in the rearview mirror, glaring like a hawk, and silently shakes her head. No. I'm not allowed to touch you. I jerk back with a cry and cradle my hand to my chest, like she's burned it with her eyes and I rock back and forth, shaking and whimpering and feeling so hated that it _hurts._

I don't look up when we pull into the driveway. I don't move, not even when Isis comes to carry your sleeping body to your new bedroom. I spend the night in the car, crying and alone and wishing that I'd been a better yami because it _has _to be my fault because hikari's perfect and he'd never do anything wrong.

It's morning before I even consider moving, and that's only because my stomach's so empty that it aches. I've only had this body three days, and it's already hungry?

I suppose I should feed it.

You're sitting at the breakfast table when I walk in and you glare at me over the newspaper. I drop to my knees immediately, pressing my forehead to the tile. Somewhere deep inside me I feel you smirk and beckon me closer. I glance up at you hopefully, and you urge me forward.

I seat myself on your lap like you want me to. Isis isn't home, she's gone to work already, and I know that means another round of playtime for hikari and I'm looking forward to it, because it means I have another chance to prove myself to you, to prove that I'm a good yami. You slide your arm around my waist and I know I'm supposed to respond to your advances, but I catch sight of your half-empty cereal bowl and my stomach gives a traitorous growl. You laugh and bury your face in my hair and I snuggle closer, my eyes closed in contentment.

I'm sorry, I tell you.

You know.

I just wanted—

But you don't care what I want.

I know that, hikari-love.

You don't like when I call you that. And I'm sorry, but you know that already. I'm always sorry when you're unhappy with me. So sorry. I love you, hikari.

You laugh and I flush. What's so funny? I'm serious, pretty one. You're not laughing at me, are you?

Yes, you are. Love? What would make me think that you loved me?

I fiddle with my earring and mumble into your chest. Because we're one, hikari-mine, and if I love you then don't you—?

No.

That hurts, hikari, and I think you _know_ it hurts, because I feel you smiling in the back of my head, even while the tears are streaming down my face. I can feel your amusement deep, deep inside me and I'm crying while you're laughing. I can't believe it, don't want to believe it, because I've done everything for you. I've lived for you, killed for you and you can't love me.

Get out, you say.

Hikari-mine...?

Get _out_.

Hikari doesn't...doesn't want me anymore?

_Out_.

Hikari doesn't need me?

I hate you, you say. Get out of my life.

Shoving, pushing at me, urging me out the door and I'm too frozen to respond, but this can't be happening, it can't, because I love hikari and hikari loves me, he does, this is just another game! That's it, another game. Hikari loves his games. And if I wander these streets long enough, hikari will find me. He'll find me and he'll smile that eerie smile and open his arms to me and tell me what a good yami I am for obeying him.

Because there's no _me_ anymore, hikari. It's all for you.

It's all for you.

(A/N: Well...um...what can I say? Marik's in denial. I guess I never really understood all those fics with innocent-angel-Malik and bastard-psycho-Marik, because Marik's only six years old, and I imagine that he'd have the mentality of a six-year-old once separated from Malik. Not to mention, Malik's a psychotic hikari, and I don't think getting rid of his yami would make him suddenly perfect. I think he's crazy and he'll always _be_ crazy, and I kind of like the idea of Marik being so supremely devoted to him that everything he did in the Battle City Arc was for Malik's benefit. Okay, so read and review, minna! Please! I'll cry if you don't!)

(A/N: Another thought: If Marik's got the mentality of a six-year-old...does that make Malik a pedophile? o.O)


End file.
